Blood and Ashes
by Aireon Maris
Summary: A destiny destroyed, a light extinguished, a path turned away from. A collection of drabbles about Dean and Sam as demons.
1. Home

1.

There was a moment when they first saw each other again, after Dean had clawed his way out of hell and hijacked a meat suit until he could get his own back. Just a moment when they stared at each other, realizing what the other was, and was horrified by it. Then the moment passed into ringing, triumphant laughter and a full-on wrestling match in the parking lot of the motel that totaled three cars. Sam's eyes were shining when he finally let Dean win, still the same innocent blue-hazel they'd been back when he was human. Dean stared down at his little brother and realized that they'd be spending all eternity together.

It was perfect.


	2. Spell

2.

The spell to restore Dean's body took months to prepare. They went back to Illinois to dig up his bones, by now almost rotted clean. Then they arrived on Bobby's doorstep, computer under Sam's arm and canvas bag over Dean's shoulder. It was the first time Dean saw the old man since he'd arrived topside, and he looked terrible, like he was about one drink away from alcohol poisoning. Sam had just brushed past Bobby into the house, heading straight for the library. Dean took a moment to look the man up and down. He should have felt concern. Remorse, maybe. But there was nothing. And Dean didn't much care.

They didn't have much reason to keep Bobby alive aside from sentimentality, and Bobby knew it. But he still tried to bully them like he'd always done, and, more out of habit than anything else, they took it. Bobby didn't bother trying to talk them out of the spell; he knew it'd be pointless. So he sat and watched and drank and drank until they finally found what they were looking for and set it all up in the back yard.

Two days later, under the new moon, Dean had his old body back and they tossed the temporary one into the pond with little ceremony. Dean examined himself closely, getting re-acquainted with his original meat suit. All of his scars were gone, leaving smooth, unblemished skin. He stroked the place on his chest where Sam had inked the anti-possession tattoo. He wouldn't be needing it anymore.


	3. Belonging

3.

Dean killed Ruby six months after he returned from hell. As it turned out, she was the reason Sam was what he was. She'd introduced him to his demon side and slowly pushed him deeper and deeper until it had consumed him. Dean had yelled at Sam for hours when he found out. It wasn't because Ruby was a demon, or what Sam had let her do, but because she wasn't Dean.

Sam belonged to Dean, no one else.

So Dean waited, and the next time she came sneaking around, her stuck her own knife in her gut. Sam shrugged when Dean told him what he'd done. She wasn't important, not now that he had Dean back. After the spell, after they left Bobby's, they hit the road and wandered for weeks with no destination in mind. There was some blood in Springfield, some carnage in Nashville, and then they ran into Meg in Cincinnati.

After "hello" began to wind down, destroying most of a city street in the process, she spent the next couple of hours gloating. Dean knocked her through a brick wall for making a comment about John and she returned the favor over a snide remark about Yellow Eyes. When they finally sat down for a couple of drinks, Meg made the mistake of coming on to Dean. Sam calmly stood up, took out Ruby's knife, and slit her throat.

Dean belonged to Sam, no one else.


	4. Vacation

4.

They finally made it to the Grand Canyon. Dean had been bugging Sam about it for weeks until the younger Winchester threw his hands up in exasperation and defeat. The day after they arrived, however, a trio of hunters caught their scent and spent the next few days doing their best to make their lives miserable. But Sam and Dean knew all the tricks of the trade. They played with the hunters until they were tired of the chase and slaughtered them in their own motel room.

Sam and Dean grinned at each other over the corpses and Dean suggested they write "Winchesters were here" on the wall in blood. Sam accused him of being childish but Dean only flicked him off and did it anyway.

It turned out to be a bad idea because every hunter in the Midwest promptly descended on them. They spent four months trying to cover their tracks and eventually crashed at Bobby's just like they used to, back when they were humans on the run from demons instead of the other way around.


	5. Addiction

5.

They were in the middle of nowhere when Sam got the shakes. He'd gone to sleep fine but woke up the next morning barely able to stand. Dean cussed at him for thirty straight minutes before carrying him out to the Impala and stowing him carefully in the back seat. But try as he might, he couldn't find a single demon within fifty miles.

It was ironic, really: a demon addicted to demon's blood. One could even call Sam a cannibal. But it had been the source of Sam's darkness and hadn't disappeared when he'd changed sides. As one day stretched into two and finally three, Sam grew more and more delusional, and even tried to attack Dean at one point. Dean had no choice but lock his own brother in a demon trap and leave him in an abandoned barn.

He arrived two days later with a half-conscious demon in tow, slit the thing's neck, and broke the devil's trap. Sam was on the still-live demon like a shark. He was high for nearly twenty-four hours. When he finally came down, Dean smacked him upside the head and told him never to cut it that close again.


	6. Cynophobia

6.

"Sam?"

"What?"

"Next time you get hungry, pick on someone _without_ hellhounds."

"How was I supposed to know some low-level black-eyes had hellhounds?"

"_We're_ low-level black-eyes."

"...Your point?"

"That's it, you're walking."

"Dean, you're so overreacting. There was only two hounds."

"I am _not_ overreacting."

"You threw a car on one of them."

"...Your point?"

"You know what, I'll just walk."


	7. Trigger

7.

It didn't take much to set Dean off these days. When a would-be mugger shot Sam, Dean turned the man inside out, and then exploded at Sam for getting blood on the seats of the Impala. Sam was the calm one, keeping Dean grounded. He showed few extremes, as if the loss of his soul had taken away most of his emotions, too. Dean liked to watch Sam kill, liked the icy efficiency. But for all his detachment, Sam preferred to use the Knife, on humans or demons, it didn't matter. The kill always had to be up-close and personal, so he could look into their eyes as their lives bled out.

Dean used a gun, or his powers. He was still learning new and creative ways to utilize the demon powers. Like Sam, he wasn't picky if it was demons or humans, just anyone that threatened Sam. It wasn't long until their reputation spread and they were universally hated by demons and hunters alike. But they didn't care. The Winchesters against the world. That was the way it was supposed to be.


	8. Headlines

8.

Dean frowned when the newspaper hit the table in front of his plate. He looked up from his blueberry pie and scowled up at his little brother. "What?" he demanded. Sam folded into the booth opposite Dean and gestured at the newspaper.

"We made front pages with that stunt you pulled last night," he replied grumpily. Dean's eyebrows shot up and he read the headline out loud.

"'Brutal Double Murder Stumps Police.' Huh. It wasn't _that_ bad," Dean muttered, shoveling another bite of pie into his mouth.

"You exploded the guy's head," Sam told him flatly. Dean shrugged.

"He was a dick."

"Be that as it may," Sam went on. "We should probably skip town." Dean eyed him inquiringly. "Someone will remember that they saw us with the victims," Sam explained.

"Dude, we're demons," Dean pointed out. "It's not as if they can lock us up."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but having a national manhunt on our asses will be annoying. Or have you forgotten Henderson?"

That made Dean grumpy. He scooped up the last bite of pie and rose to his feet. Sam scrambled up after him, grabbing the newspaper as he did. Sam gave Dean an annoyed look and nodded toward the table. Dean sighed gruffly and tossed a ten dollar bill onto the table. "You're such a prude," he accused.

"There's no point in attracting attention," Sam snapped back.

"We're not made of money, you know," Dean grumbled.

"You have super powers. You can win all the poker and pool you want," Sam replied. Dean gave him a dark look and sulked all the way to the Impala.


	9. Accident

9.

There was something weird going on with the two men at the bar. They had come in together around eight, laughing over some private joke. At first Amy had been entranced by the shorter man's green eyes, but when she'd tried to flirt, the hulking one growled at her. Actually growled. They'd each had about six beers by now and they didn't show any signs of stopping. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, talking in low voices. They were continually turning to catch the other's eye and then would smirk. Amy rolled her eyes. No wonder the tall one had resented her advances.

A burly leather-clad biker reached for the bowl of peanuts and knocked over a salt shaker. White grains spilled over the bar, covering the shorter man's hand. He hissed and snatched his hand away and shook it as if in pain. "Watch it!" he snapped angrily.

"Cool it, man," the biker rumbled. "It was just an accident."

Amy came over with a damp towel to clean up the mess and couldn't help but notice that the man's hand was reddened and blistered as if it had been burned. She frowned; she hadn't remembered it being like that earlier. This revelation was further confirmed when the tall man reached over and grabbed his companion's wrist, pulling his hand over so he could inspect it. The green-eyed one yanked his hand free.

"I'm fine," he growled.

"Dean," the other said, exasperated.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snapped. He shoved his hand under the bar out of sight.

"Jerk," Sam muttered into his beer.

"Bitch," Dean replied with a sudden grin. He clapped Sam on the back. "Come on, I'm bored with this place." He slid off his stool with no hint of unsteadiness. As he turned to leave, his shoulder rammed into the biker, knocking him right off his stool.

"What the hell, man?" the biker yelled, getting back to his feet.

Dean gave him a toothy grin. "Cool it, man, it was just an accident," he replied. The biker, already half-drunk, took a swing at the shorter man. Afterward, Amy crept out from behind the bar and dialed 911 with trembling fingers, trying not to look at the destruction that had once been her workplace.


	10. Family

10.

It hadn't been easy, getting a hold of this demon. It had been remarkably low-key. The only reason Foster had even known it _was_ a demon was because he'd seen the thing's inability to cross over an iron threshold. But the damned thing was smart and managed to stay one step ahead of him for two days until he finally got it in a devil's trap.

It was wearing a young man, somewhere in his mid-twenties, a giant of a kid with shaggy brown hair and deceptively innocent eyes. His lips were curled into a knowing smirk. He didn't try to fight, or talk to him. Just kept staring at him. Just kept smirking.

Foster tried to ignore him as he set up the exorcism, but his skin was starting to crawl. The thing didn't even blink, and he _would not stop smiling._ He schooled his face into his most ferocious scowl. "The hell you're grinning about?" he growled.

The smirk only got wider. "My brother is going to kill you," the demon told him in a conversational tone.

Foster snorted in disbelief. "Your kind ain't got brothers."

The demon shrugged. "That's why you're going to die."

The hunter narrowed his eyes. "You're a demon," he said suspiciously. "You don't care about family."

The damn smile grew again. "I'm a Winchester. It's _all_ about family."

The door to the farmhouse flew inwards off its hinges. A man stood in the doorway, jet black eyes and the _same damn smirk_. "I believe that's my cue," he said cheerfully. "Heya, Sammy."

"Hey, Dean," the captive demon greeted with a nod.

Foster dove for his shotgun. The iron shot wouldn't stop a demon, but it sure would hurt like hell. But the newcomer didn't even let him get that far. He held up a hand and Foster slammed into the wall hard enough to shake a couple of pictures loose. The new demon gestured with the other hand and the floor cracked through the devil's trap.

"Showoff," the first demon accused as he rose out of his chair, shaking off the ropes.

The second demon shrugged. "Just doing my duty and saving my baby brother."

"Asshole." The tall demon stomped out of the trap and over to his companion. He looked over at Foster. "Told you."

Dean flicked his hand idly, snapping Foster's neck. He wasn't really in the mood for carnage. As the hunter's corpse slipped to the floor, her turned to Sam. "Could he even have exorcised you? I mean, that _is_ your original body."

"Surprisingly enough," Sam replied, "I have no desire to find out."


	11. Standards

11.

The corpse lay at Dean's feet, its chest burst open. The broken edges of the ribcage poked up like jagged white teeth from the pulpy mess that had once been internal organs. The carpet beneath was stained deep crimson, and there was more red splashed on the walls. Dean looked up. Score. They'd even repainted the ceiling.

He looked over at Sam, who was sucking the blood from his fingers and wishing it was something stronger. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk. Sam's eyes lifted to meet Dean's. Dean extended his hand and the organ still clutching thereon. "Be my valentine."

Sam gave him a scornful look and twitched his fingers. The heart tumbled from Dean's hands with a wet plop. Dean shrugged and flicked the mess off. Sam jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the basement door.

"What do you want to do about the kids?"

Dean thought for a moment and then shrugged again. "I don't care. The police will be here eventually. They're not gonna go anywhere."

Sam nodded and stepped around the body to join Dean. As he did so, he pointed his finger at the nearby laptop. It crackled and let up a puff of smoke. "Fucking pervert," he muttered. Dean agreed wholeheartedly. Pedophiles were a whole different level of evil.

And even evil had standards.


	12. Complication

12.

"Ow! What the hell, man!"

"Oh, hold still you big baby."

"Sam! That fucking hurts!"

"You have a hole through your chest. Of course it hurts."

"...Dude, though. What the hell?"

"I know. What are we gonna do?"

"I dunno. Angels. Who'd have thought, right?"

"What d'you think he meant? About how we were corrupting destiny?"

"We're demons, dude. We corrupt everything. Ow!"

"That's not what he meant. And he...he acted like he had a beef with us, personally. We gotta figure out what's going on. Why they want _us._"

"Yeah, I guess. What was his name again?"

"Castiel."


	13. Family II

13.

Bobby stared at them through bleary, bloodshot eyes when he opened the door and discovered them standing on his front porch. "The hell you want this time?" he grumbled. Dean gave him a scornful look.

"Are you ever sober these days?" he demanded grumpily. A bit of the old Bobby returned when the older man glared at the younger demon.

"What d'you think?" he snapped.

Sam, as usual, brushed past Bobby and headed straight for the library, not even waiting for an invitation before he started scanning through the piles of books. Dean wandered in after his brother, grabbing the first moderately full bottle of alcohol he came across.

"You took down all the devil's traps," Dean observed, looking around the house. Bobby's scowl was firmly in place.

"Too much trouble getting you two idjits out of 'em all the damn time," he muttered, taking a swig from his own bottle. "'Sides, no one comes after me these days. Too afraid of what you'll do to 'em."

Dean nodded in satisfaction. "As it should be."

"What're you boys after?" Bobby asked, watching Sam select books and toss them haphazardly onto the couch for later perusal.

"Angels," Dean replied casually. Bobby sputtered a mouthful of whiskey across the library.

"What?" he yelled. Dean shrugged.

"A couple of angels caught up with us in Illinois. Like they were after us specifically. Sam wants to figure out why."

"No such thing as angels," Bobby insisted.

"I got a hole in my chest that begs to differ," Dean retorted. He pulled his t-shirt down to show Bobby the angry red scar below his collar bone. "Damn thing shoved an iron bar right through me."

"You're lucky he didn't kill you," Sam said absently, paging through a book. He'd been ridiculously excited when he discovered that he could use his demonic powers for speed-reading. Dissatisfied with what he found, he flung the book onto Bobby's desk with an annoyed grunt.

Bobby looked on, clutching his whiskey in one hand. All of his contacts had been confused and angry when he announced he was done hunting for good. Seeing Dean and Sam as what they were had just broken him. He still loved them, dammit, loved them like his own boys, even without their souls. He couldn't bring himself to exorcise them any more than they could bring themselves to kill him. It was twisted and wrong but there it was.

Family mattered above everything.

He growled and set his bottle down with a thump. "Throw me a book, boy," he grumbled at Sam. "I'll see what I can dig up."


	14. Uriel

14.

Sam didn't know where Dean was. Didn't know if he was even alive. The angel in front of him was shorter than him, but heavier, a big, bald, black man in a dark suit and a nasty smirk.

"No one was surprised when we found out about _you_," he sneered. "Tainted, abomination, child of Azazel."

Sam's hazel irises were swallowed by inky darkness. "My father's name," he said in a cold voice. "Was John Winchester."

"That doesn't matter anymore," the angel replied gloatingly, a silver blade sliding down his sleeve into his hand. "You don't matter anymore. No one will complain if I wipe you from existence. You and your brother."

The angel lunged, sword raised high, but Sam was ready. He was a demon. He cheated. He teleported out of the way at the last minute, landing behind the angel, and kicked out the angel's knee. With a bellow of rage, the angel stumbled and tried to spin around, but Sam slammed the Knife into the angel's sword-wrist and twisted. The angel's hand opened involuntarily, and Sam caught the sword as it fell.

The angel's other fist slammed into Sam's chest and he flew backwards, hitting a concrete wall and cracking it, but he kept hold of the sword. As he slumped to the ground, dazed, the angel stalked over to Sam and knelt over him, his face a mask of fury. He reached down and grabbed Sam's head with both hands. Burning agony filled Sam's skull and a scream ripped its way from his throat.

Through the haze of orange fire, Sam could still feel the sword in his hand, cool and tingling with power. With the last of his strength, he lifted his arm and rammed the point of the sword into the underside of the angel's jaw.

After the explosion of angelic Grace, Sam lay panting on the ground, sword still clutched in his hand. When his vision finally cleared and the pain receded, he staggered to his feet. He had to find Dean.


	15. Castiel

15.

Dean panted, clutching his side. He couldn't straighten; the pain was too much. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth and sweat trickled into his eyes, making them burn. He didn't know where Sam was, didn't know if he was still alive, even. All he knew was the pain and the man standing in front of him.

He was pure and unmarred and white-hot, and Dean's eyes had shuttered black out of instinct, the darkness in him rejecting the other man's light. For the first time since he'd fought his way free of hell, Dean was afraid.

"What do you want?" he rasped.

The angel tilted his head, blue eyes blazing with righteous fury. The blood on his knuckles didn't belong to him. "This was not meant to be," he growled. Dean blinked at him, tried to blink his eyes back to normal, but they remained stubbornly black, as if to shield him from the angel's brightness.

"Huh?" he asked ingeniously, his brain still too occupied by the pain to process any deeper thought.

"You were never supposed to break," the angel continued, taking a step forward. His voice was low and gravelly, brimming with power and anger. "You were supposed to resist. You were the one to lead us to victory." A spasm of disgust crossed his craggy features. "Instead, you became...filth."

Dean's lips curled in a sneer, useless bravado in the face of his death. "Fuck destiny," he spat. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and then Sam was there, a dripping silver sword in his other fist. The angel's eyes grew wide at the sight of it.

"No!" he cried out, and lunged forward, but Sam had already gotten them out of there, back to their hex-bag-warded hotel room, and they were safe.

For now.


	16. Deal

16.

Every muscle in his body ached, even after a hot shower. Dean grumbled to himself and slung a towel around his hips, reaching for another to dry off his hair. Sam had come out the better in their second encounter with the angels, actually managing to kill one. Of course, that probably just increased the angel's determination to destroy them.

He vigorously toweled his hair, still complaining mentally, and then everything around him changed. He could tell he was in a bigger space than the motel bathroom. The warm, moist air was replaced with a coolness that slithered against his bare skin. Dean slowly lowered the towel covering his face and looked around.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he said flatly. He was standing in a dark basement, a devil's trap chalked around his feet. A cluster of candles was the only light and a young woman stood just inside the illuminated circle, clutching an old book to her chest. She stared at him with huge eyes.

"Um...who are you?" she asked timidly.

"A summoning?" Dean ignored her question. "You performed a freakin' _summoning_? How the hell did you come up with me, anyway?"

"I-it just said the most appropriate demon would arrive," the girl stammered, blinking furiously.

"Most appropriate my ass," Dean muttered, crossing his arms. He was acutely aware of the image he presented, dressed only in a towel with droplets of water still clinging to his skin. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want to make a deal," the girl said, her voice slightly stronger.

"Do I look like a fucking crossroads demon to you?" Dean burst out, trying to take a step forward. The trap kept him in place, though. The girl edged backwards, her eyes getting even wider. "I don't make deals," Dean growled.

"But that's how it works," the girl insisted. "I summon you, we make the deal, I let you go."

Dean ran his fingers through his damp hair, causing it to stick straight up. She was right, dammit. All demons made deals. Crossroad demons just made a career out of it. "What is it?" he growled.

"I want you to kill my father," she whispered. Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Why do you want your old man dead?"

"Does it matter?" She wouldn't meet his gaze anymore, still clutching the book as if it was her lifeline.

"I usually don't make a habit of killing people without knowing the reason why," Dean said dryly. Her eyes jerked up to meet his, face wrinkled in confusion.

"But...you're a demon," she said, bemused.

"I'm a demon wearing a towel in a very cold basement," Dean snapped. "So let's hurry up and get this over with so I can get back to my hotel room, all right?"

The girl sighed deeply and put the book down. Then she slowly peeled her t-shirt off her body and stepped further into the light. Under normal circumstances, Dean was perfectly okay with a girl taking her shirt off in front of him, but what he saw dragged a growl from deep in his throat. The girl's torso was covered in shiny, waxy patches of burn scars, some old, and many other new and fresh. They ran over her shoulders and arms, too, numerous and painful.

"I'll do it," he said in a low, rough voice. "I'll make the deal."

The girl hesitated, and then stepped forward, careful not to smudge the devil's trap, until she was standing directly in front of Dean. He could hear her pulse fluttering wildly. She reeked of fear and resignation and despair and for some reason it didn't excite Dean like it should have. He reached over, hooked his fingers in her short, blonde hair, and covered her mouth with his.

Dean felt the kiss sear the girl down to her soul, branding her as _his_. Shannon Priest, aged 18, owned by Dean Winchester. In a fit of sudden possessiveness, he bit down on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Shannon cried out and pulled away, reaching up to wipe the droplets of crimson away.

"Let me out," Dean ordered. Trembling, she bent down and rubbed at a chalk line, finally breaking the seal. Dean stepped out and she scrambled backwards. "Wait here," he told her. He returned fifteen minutes later. The man in question had been passed out drunk on the couch upstairs, completely unaware of his daughter's activities. It hadn't taken much to induce a heart attack, or two. Dean had made sure the bastard suffered. "It's done."

Shannon nodded, her expression carefully blank, and looked down at her feet. "How long do I have?" she asked quietly.

"As long as I decide," Dean told her. Her head shot up, face once more confused. "I'm not a crossroads demon," he said again. "You die when and how I say so." He jabbed a finger in her direction. "And until then, I own your ass, you get me?"

She nodded again, brown eyes enormous. Dean snorted. "Clean this mess up and call 911." Then he teleported himself back to the hotel bathroom. He shucked his towel and got dressed. When he emerged into the room, Sam looked up from his laptop.

"What took you so long?" he demanded.


	17. Anna

17.

Sam was staring expectantly at him, waiting for an explanation as to why he'd been in the bathroom for over an hour. Dean ran his fingers through his hair and considered telling his brother that he'd been summoned to a basement in Connecticut and made a deal with a young woman to kill her father in exchange for her soul. Deciding that that was a conversation for another day, he merely prowled forward, pushing Sam's feet off the closest chair, and pulled the white take-out bag toward him. Some things never changed.

"What's got your undies into a twist?" he demanded, dumping the fast food breakfast onto the table.

"I just got word that Lilith is on the move," Sam said eagerly, leaning forward. His shaggy hair flopped into his eyes but didn't hide the sudden gleam in the blue-hazel depths. Dean sighed and shook his head. In the nine months since Dean had emerged from hell, Sam had always had one ear open for any news on Lilith.

"Will you give it a rest already?" he said wearily. "I'm back. We don't need to worry about her anymore."

"Apparently she's after some human girl," Sam went on, ignoring Dean. "Anna Milton. They say she's special, got some kind of powers or something."

"Who's 'they'?" Dean asked with his mouth full, cocking an eyebrow. Sam waved a hand vaguely.

"I have my sources."

Dean continued to stare with one eyebrow raised. Sam huffed.

"You were gone for over a year, Dean. I didn't just sit around moping the whole time."

The older Winchester snorted. "Okay. So. Anna Milton. Why do we care?"

"Because anything that interferes with Lilith is top priority in my book," Sam explained impatiently. "And we just might be able to track whoever she sends after the girl back to Lilith herself."

"Lilith is a little above our pay grade," Dean told him. "You know she's the oldest demon in existence, right?"

"Yeah, but we're _Winchesters_," Sam replied with a deadly grin. Dean grinned back.

He couldn't argue with that.


	18. Alistair

18.

Walking into the church had been one of the hardest things Dean could ever remember doing. Every instinct was screaming at him to turn, to run away. He swore he could feel his skin burning and all his senses were going haywire. But he gritted his teeth, resisted the urge to flee, and soldiered on.

The found Anna in the attic, cowering behind a glass panel. She screamed at the sight of them, recoiling in fear and revulsion. Neither Dean nor Sam had any patience for her hysterics. Sam grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.

"Shut up," he snapped. "We're not going to kill you, okay?"

The redhead fell silent with a gulp, eyes wide. Dean jerked his head toward the door. "Let's get out of here," he said. "This place is getting on my nerves."

"Please," Anna whispered. "Please don't hurt me."

"Believe it or not," Dean replied sourly, "But we're here to save you." Whether or not it was actually true, he wasn't sure. But she was definitely better off with them than in Lilith's clutches. He headed for the door, Sam dragging Anna behind them. Before they reached it, however, it was blasted off its hinges, allowing a white-haired man to stride in.

Dean's eyes went wide, instinctively clouding black. "Oh, shit," he spat, stepping between his little brother and the monster in front of them.

The newcomer smirked. "Hello, Dean," he said, his voice a nasal lisp.

"Alistair," Dean replied tightly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Quite. I'll be sure to tell Lilith how helpful you were, finding the girl."

Sam shoved Anna behind him and took a step forward, lifting his chin defiantly. Alistair cocked an eyebrow, his smirk growing. "Ah, yes. Little Sammy Winchester. You're quite the exception you know, getting into the club without the entrance exam. We'll have to rectify that soon."

"You stay the hell away from him," Dean growled, surging forward. Alistair raised a finger and waggled it at Dean.

"Ah, ah, ah. I thought I trained you better than that, Dean. Be a good boy and hand them over, the girl _and_ your brother."

Dean did the only thing he could. He grabbed Sam and the girl and jumped through the stained glass window.


	19. Angel Radio

19.

Dean removed the last shard of glass from the cuts in his face and flung the tweezers into the sink. He grabbed the damp towel and mopped the blood away, wincing as his dislocated shoulder twinged painfully. "Will you hurry up, Sam," he called. "My shoulder needs to be popped back into place."

"Fuck you," Sam growled back. He was trying to stitch closed a deep gash across his triceps without much success. The stitches were crooked and uneven. Then the needle was gently plucked from his grasp. He looked up sharply to see Anna standing next to him. She refused to meet his gaze, lowering her head so her hair hid her face.

"Let me," she said softly. Sam stared at her, bemused, as she finished the job much more neatly than he could have managed.

"You know what we are, right?" he asked as she found a bandage and covered the wound. She nodded, still not looking at his face.

"Yeah, but you saved me back there," she replied, her voice barely audible. Her eyes darted to his face and away again. Then she stepped back, allowing Sam to get to his feet. He turned to look at Dean, who was staring at Anna with a weird expression. Before Dean knew what he was doing, Sam walked over, grabbed Dean's shoulder, and forced it back into its socket.

"Ow! Fuck!" Dean said, glaring at Sam as he tested his shoulder. Once he was satisfied it was correctly in place, he turned to Anna. "So. Why does Lilith want you so bad?"

Anna hunched her shoulders, sliding her hands into her back pockets. "Probably because I can hear the angels."

Sam and Dean just stared at her. "What?" the demanded at the same time. She bobbed her head, swallowing nervously.

"Yeah. It started about four months ago. First words I heard, clear as a bell: 'Dean Winchester must die.'"

Sam shot Dean an alarmed look but Dean just laughed, starting to pace the motel room. "Just fantastic," he said. "Awesome. What else are you hearing?"

Anna shrugged. "Right now, just some background chatter. But I kinda picked up on the fact they don't like you two very much."

Sam chuckled darkly at that. "No, not really," he said, his expression calculating. "You know what will happen if Lilith gets her hands on you, right?"

Anna nodded jerkily. "Yeah." She freed one hand to tuck a strand of crimson hair behind one ear. "Um...Can I ask what you're planning on doing with me?" she asked timidly.

Dean moved the curtains aside with one finger, peering out the window. "For now, getting the hell out of here. More of Lilith's mooks just showed up."


	20. Twist

20.

Dean was only mildly surprised when the psychic Bobby recommended was willing to meet them, even after she'd been warned they were demons. "I know Bobby," she'd said. "If he trusts you, that's good enough for me."

So they'd ended up in some abandoned barn, waiting and watching while Pamela Barnes tried to coax the truth out of Anna's subconscious. What they learned was not what they'd expected. Dean and Sam immediately went on the defensive, eyes clouding black.

"An angel?" Dean spat. "You're a fucking angel?"

"A _fallen_ angel," Anna corrected primly. "I chose to leave the host and live as a human."

Sam put his hand against Dean's chest, pushing him back. "What does that mean for us?" he demanded, the darkness receding back into his pupils. Dean's eyes stayed stubbornly black.

"Well, it means I'm not going to kill you on sight," Anna quipped. She shrugged. "I don't have any Grace, so I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"Grace?" Sam echoed.

"Energy. Power," Anna replied. "I had to tear it out in order to become human. Not unlike cutting your kidney out with a spoon." She seemed about to speak again when she froze, her eyes going distant. "Uh...guys?" she said after a moment. "I think this is bad."

"What?" Dean and Sam demanded at the same time.

"The angels know where we are," she said with a wince. "And I think they're going to come after us."


	21. Showdown

21.

_Oh, shit_.

It was the only thing going through Dean's head as he faced off with the extremely pissed-off angels in front of him. Castiel had gained a new wing-buddy: some blonde dude with a British accent. Both of them stood just inside the demolished front door of the barn, swords gleaming in the moonlight. Dean and Sam faced them shoulder-to-shoulder, Anna behind them.

There was no talk of surrender, of bargaining, because the Winchesters knew the angels wouldn't let them walk away from this, even if they gave Anna up. So they prepared to fight, Sam with his stolen angel-sword and Dean with a horribly inadequate crowbar.

Castiel took a step forward, coiling as if to spring, when a voice called out from behind them, "Don't you harm a hair on those kid's heads!"

It looked like they just got more screwed.

Alistair stepped into the barn out of the night, flanked by a pair of black-eyed cronies. He grinned at the angels. "I think we'll take it from here. Don't worry, we'll make sure they get punished good and proper."

The British angel sneered. "You dare challenge us?" he scoffed. "_You_?"

Alistair straightened his tie. "Me," he replied, still grinning. "Get 'em, boys." His minions charged the angels with wordless roars while Alistair paced calmly between the struggling figures towards the trio watching the proceedings in shock. "Dean. We meet again."

"Get out of here," Dean muttered to Sam.

"Not a chance," Sam muttered back. Dean growled and squared his shoulders.

"Hand the girl over, Dean," Alistair ordered.

Dean bared his teeth. "Go fuck yourself." Alistair sighed theatrically.

"And you were such a promising student." Without warning, he lunged forward, slapping Sam aside with contemptuous ease. Dean spun and rammed the crowbar through Alistairs gut. The higher-level demon stumbled backwards from the force of the blow but didn't look concerned. Instead, he merely took hold of the bar and easily pulled it free. Alistair took two steps forward and grabbed Dean by the throat.

"We had so much fun downstairs," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Let's play again, shall we?" He began to chant, rolling, hideous words that dripped from his mouth like oily venom. A demon's exorcism. Dean struggled to get free, clinging to his meat suit with all his strength, but he could feel himself detaching, choking up his throat.

Then Alistair went rigid, his eyes wide with shock. A silver point of metal pushed through his chest and he released Dean, who dropped to his knees, coughing violently. Alistair reached up to touch the bloodstain growing on his dress shirt and then toppled over. Anna lifted the bloody angel-sword and glared down at the corpse of the demon. Then she reached over and slammed her palm against the blood-drawn sigil on the barn wall.


	22. Tree

22.

"That's it?" Dean asked sceptically. Anna nodded. "It's a big-ass tree," he said, clearly not impressed. "Your Grace is inside a big-ass tree?"

Anna snorted and rolled her eyes, exchanging an exasperated look with Sam. "You two should probably stay here," she said. "There's no telling how it'll affect you. Probably badly."

"Yeah, we'll wait here," Sam said, putting his hands on his pockets. "Good luck."

Anna nodded thoughtfully and looked at each brother in turn, her eyes solemn. "Thanks for helping me out. I know you didn't have to."

"Yeah, but now you owe us one," Dean told her. "And trust me, we'll collect."

She laughed. "Yeah. Do that. It'll be good to see you again." With that she turned and walked toward the massive tree in the center of the field. She hesitated as she approached it, staring at it for a long moment, and then she laid her hand against the rough bark.

When Dean and Sam lowered their arms after the explosion, there was no sign of Anna and the tree was shedding leaves onto the grass. "So..." Sam after a minute. "We just helped an angel get her power back."

"Yeah," Dean said dryly. "Go figure."


	23. Coffee

23.

Back when he first started, Sam didn't need to drink a whole lot of demon's blood. A few mouthfuls was enough. These days, he had to practically drain the body. Dean waited patiently in the doorway of the dilapidated gas station, keeping watch while Sam finished. His younger brother would be blissed-out for about a whole day but this hit would keep him going for at least two weeks. The captive demon struggled in Sam's grip, but was easily kept in place as Sam's strength grew with each swallow. When he finally had his fill, he slid the Knife into the demon's heart and left the drained corpse on the floor, wiping the blood from his mouth.

Dean strolled over to his brother and grabbed his arm to steady him. Sam's pupils were blown wide open and his expression was completely spaced. "Hey," Dean called. "Hey, kid, you hear me?"

Sam turned his head and stared at Dean blankly for a long minute. Then his slow, sweet smile spread over his face. "Hey, Dean," he slurred.

"Come on, buddy, let's get you back to the motel." Dean guided Sam out to the Impala and let him collapse into the back seat, spread out as much as possible and practically purring in satisfaction. Dean gave him a fond look through the rear-view mirror. He liked seeing Sam so relaxed. It didn't seem to happen often enough these days.

Dean had to help Sam into the motel room, where he promptly face-planted in one of the beds and refused to move. Dean laughed at him. "I'm gonna get some coffee. You want anything?" Sam just waved his hand vaguely without looking up and Dean laughed again. The coffee shop was around the corner so he just walked, uncaring of the snow that swirled around him. It had been a calm few weeks, with no bumps in the road, and Dean had grown complacent. As he walked back to the motel room, he paid no attention to his surroundings, confident he could handle any surprises.

He was wrong.

There was the sound of feathered wings, and a cardboard cup leaked coffee onto the freshly-fallen snow.


	24. Gone

24.

Sam knew something was wrong the instant he woke up. Through the pleasant blur of the blood-fueled high, he realized that he'd been alone in the motel room for several hours. That wasn't like Dean. Dean would never leave Sam when he was vulnerable. Sam rolled off the bed and managed to achieve an upright position.

Dean had said something before he had left. It might have been a question. Sam struggled to remember, clutching his forehead as he thought. Coffee. Dean had mentioned coffee. There was a coffee shop around the corner; it was why they'd chosen this motel. He stumbled out of the motel room, catching himself from falling on the Impala, and waited until the world re-focused from a vague, white blur. Then he realized it was snowing and pushed off towards the coffee shop.

As he stepped into the small cafe, the snow immediately began to melt and drip from his clothing. It was uncomfortable so Sam willed himself dry as he slowly made his way to the counter. The barista had remembered Dean. He'd gotten his coffee black and hadn't tipped. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Feeling slightly foolish, Sam retreated back into the snow. Dean had probably just gone to get something to eat and was already back at the motel room and pissed because Sam was gone.

So Sam made his way back towards the motel, his eyes on the ground to make sure it wouldn't go anywhere between one step and the next. That was the only reason he noticed the abandoned cup lying in the middle of a puddle of frozen coffee. Frowning, Sam crouched down and touched the cup. The sense of _Dean_ jolted through his fingertips. Taking a deep breath, Sam closed his eyes and opened all of his senses as wide as possible.

The afterimages of two men, haloed in impossibly bright light, surfaced against the back of his eyelids. He recognized the silhouettes. His eyes flew open.

"Oh, crap."


	25. Questions

25.

Anna stared at Sam, her blue-green eyes completely blank. "The angels kidnapped Dean," she echoed dully, her expression bemused.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands. He was still riding the demon-blood high, and while he usually enjoyed it, right now it was only distracting. "He wasn't dead. I'd know if he was dead," he said through gritted teeth.

"Because," she prompted. Sam's head jerked up, his expression stormy.

"Because he's my _brother_," he snapped. Anna nodded.

"Right," she said slowly. "Okay. First question. Why would the angels want Dean?"

"No, the question is, why do they want him _alive,_" Sam corrected irately.

"He has something they want, or need," Anna replied promptly. "The only reason. Once they get it, he's dead."

"New question," Sam said wearily. "How do we get him back before that happens?"

Anna shook her head, pressing the back of her wrist to her forehead as she thought. "I can't believe I'm even thinking about doing this," she muttered. Sam's head shot up, eyes narrow.

"You owe us," he reminded her harshly. "Besides, they tried to kill you. What do you owe them, anyway?"

"A lifetime of loyalty is difficult to cast aside," she snapped back, and then held up her hand to forestall his retort. "Look, we just need to find him, okay?"

"Do you know where he is?" Sam demanded.

"No," she said grimly. "But I know someone who does."


	26. Answers

26.

Shannon hefted the heavy box in her arms and barely made it across the room to stack it on top of the other cardboard boxes waiting by the door. She arched her back, fingers digging at the sore spots, and once more wished she had friends who could help her. She had packed most of what she'd wanted to take to her new apartment, now that she was finally free of her father's control. Not for the first time, her thoughts wandered to the demon who'd agreed to her deal. She shivered a little. She'd been so incredibly desperate. That was the only reason she'd dug out her mother's old books.

But those days were over. Her father was dead and Shannon could move on with her life. She shook her morbid thoughts free, grabbed another box, and headed for the kitchen. As she began to pull the dishes down from the cabinets, a soft sound behind her made her spin around, a stack of plates in her hands. A red-haired woman stood in the middle of the kitchen, just letting go of the arm of a very tall man. The man stumbled and almost fell, catching himself on the table.

Shannon shrieked and dropped the plates, recoiling against the counter. The woman's hand flashed out, and the plates stopped in midair, hovering a few inches above the floor. "Don't be afraid," she told Shannon calmly. "We're not here to hurt you." Shannon stared at the intruders with wide, frightened eyes. The man was still leaning against the table, one hand massaging his forehead.

"A deal?" he said in a thick voice. "What do you mean, Dean made a deal?"

The woman rolled her eyes impatiently. "This young woman here gave Dean her soul in exchange for killing her abusive bastard of a father." 

"How—how did you know that?" Shannon whispered in horror.

The woman shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Look, I'm Anna, and this is Sam. We need your help to find Dean."

"Dean? What happened to him?" Shannon stuttered.

"He got kidnapped by angels," Anna said flatly.

"I need to sit down," Shannon said.


	27. Connected

27.

Shannon stared uneasily at Sam, who was slumped over the kitchen table, resting his head on his arms. "Um, what's wrong with him?" she asked Anna softly. Anna looked up from the strange ingredients now littering the table.

"He's high," she replied before going back to her preparations. Shannon edged away from Sam.

"What are you doing?"

"Setting up a spell," Anna said shortly. "Now stop talking." Shannon obediently snapped her mouth shut and shrank away from the angel. Sam dragged his head up with visible effort. His pupils were blown wide open.

"You made a deal with Dean," he slurred, trying to focus on Shannon's face. "You're connected. Anna's gonna use that to find Dean."

"Oh, okay," Shannon nodded. Anna looked up again.

"I'm ready. Shannon, come here." She reached over and grabbed the girl's wrist, dragging her over to the table. "Unbutton your shirt," she ordered. Shannon's eyes widened but Anna didn't have the patience to tolerate the girl's shyness. Batting Shannon's protesting hands aside, Anna unbuttoned Shannon's shirt and drew a symbol on the girl's chest with mixed oil and blood. Then she held her hand over the symbol, closing her eyes and muttering under her breath.

The symbol began to glow and Shannon gritted her teeth when it began to burn hot. She was intimately familiar with this sort of pain, and she would endure. The pain was gone in only a few moments, and Anna dropped her hand.

"I've got him," she said, her eyes distant and unfocused. "Hurry, before the trail fades." Sam lumbered to his feet and Anna grabbed his arm. They vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving Shannon staring at the spot where they had been.


	28. Chocolate Martini

28.

Dean woke up with a pounding headache and the feeling that his mouth had been stuffed with cotton. Every muscle in his body was sore, as if he'd been beaten into submission multiple times. His memory was hazy; the last thing he remembered was his brother in a motel room, but that wasn't really indicative of much.

"Why, hello, there," a cheerful voice rang out. "Are we going to behave ourselves this time?"

Dean groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on his side on the cold, hard floor of an empty factory. Sunlight shone through the high, dirty windows, illuminating the dreary scene. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and looked around. Sitting in a overstuffed armchair, sipping on a chocolate martini from the minibar beside the chair, was someone Dean had absolutely no desire to see again.

"Trickster," he growled, managing to sit upright.

"Hiya, Dean," the Trickster chirped, waving. "Please refrain from attacking me or trying to escape..._again_. Kicking your ass is starting to get old."

"What do you want with me?" Dean demanded. "You had your fun. You were right. Sam _couldn't_ save me. You happy now?"

The Trickster pursed his lips. "Well, I didn't expect _this_ outcome, I'll give you that. You haven't left me much to work with. But it'll have to do."

Dean achieved a standing position. "My brother is going to find you, and this time, we really will kill you."

The other man laughed. "Oh, your pet moose is currently chasing after dead ends. I'll have him running in circles for weeks. And in the meantime, you and I get to have fun!" He put down the martini and hopped to his feet. Dean took a wary step backwards.

"What are you going to do?" he snarled.

The Trickster tilted his head, clasping his hands behind his back. "Don't you want to know why the angels are so upset about you? I mean you personally and not the fact you're a sulfur-based stain on the universe." He grinned. "Don't you want to know why Castiel and the others are taking such a personal insult by your very existence?"

"No, not really," Dean replied.

The Trickster shrugged. "Oh. Well, too bad." He grinned again. "Better hold on tight, kiddo. It's gonna be a ride of a lifetime." He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

The factory was perfectly silent, no evidence whatsoever that it had ever been occupied, even temporarily.


	29. Observation

29.

Dean lurched forward, away from the Trickster's side, and spun around, taking in their new location. They were in a forest clearing, newly widened. The trees around them were completely flattened, radiating outward from the rough cross planted in the overgrown grass.

"The fuck are we?" he demanded.

"Don't you recognize it?" the Trickster asked innocently, his golden eyes wide. "It's _your_ grave."

Dean turned in place again. "Last time I saw it, it didn't look like this," he insisted, taking the chance to move further away from the Trickster. The guy might look like a little twerp, but Dean knew from painful experience how scary he could be.

"That's because this is a different version," the Trickster explained. "An...alternate reality, I guess you could say. How things could have gone. _If_."

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "If what?"

The playful expression vanished from the Trickster's face. "If the angels had got to you in time," he said grimly. He snapped his fingers again. Dean jerked. Now they were in a barn, dilapidated and covered with wards of all shapes and sizes. Dean recognized most of them, and realized that he should be anywhere near this place.

"Oh, I'm protecting you, don't worry," the Trickster assured him. He gestured. "Observe."

Dean turned around. Standing not five feet away was...himself, actually. Except human. Dean could smell it on the other him, reeking from his skin. And not too far away was Bobby, looking significantly better than Dean remembered. "The fuck?" he asked again, his eyes wide.

"Told you, alternate reality," the Trickster said, stepping up beside him. "Now shut up and watch."

So Dean watched while the doors swung open, while the lights exploded and Castiel the angel strode right up to the other Dean—the human Dean—and spoke the words that sent a shock down demon Dean's spine.

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."


	30. Alternate

30.

After watching the other Dean, Sam, and Bobby battle ghosts of their pasts, demon Dean and the Trickster played quiet witness to the conversation between Castiel and human Dean in the kitchen of Bobby's house. The Trickster snapped his fingers when it was done, and the other Dean vanished, leaving the demon and the Trickster alone in the kitchen.

"So now you know," the shorter man said, plucking a lollipop from midair and shoving it into his mouth.

"What, that Lilith is trying to bust Lucifer free?" Dean asked. "What the hell does it have to do with me? You said that this was an alternate reality. This isn't actually happening."

"Oh, Dean," the Trickster sighed. "You are so dense sometimes. Well, actually, all the time. Come on."

_Snap_. They were in a hospital. Human Dean lay in a cot, hooked up to IVs and oxygen. He'd been beaten bloody. Castiel was sitting next to the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"So in this other world I've got an angel stalking my ass," Dean muttered. "Awesome."

"Shut up," the Trickster commanded. "Listen."

So Dean listened while the angel explained about the first seal, how Dean had broken it by picking up the knife in Hell. Demon Dean tried to suppress a sick swirl of apprehension in his gut. But Castiel wasn't finished. Apprehension turned to anger and disbelief. Dean whirled around and stomped out of the room, the lights overhead flickering as he went.

The Trickster appeared in front of him, eyebrow raised inquiringly. "So something hit a nerve," he said. "Spill."

"Where do they get off expecting me to stop the fucking Apocalypse?" Dean snarled. "It's their fucking problem, they can deal with it. Leave me out of it."

"Alternate reality, dumbass," the Trickster reminded him. "That wasn't you."

"Yeah, and thank hell for that," Dean snapped. "If that was what could have happened if I got airlifted out of hell in time, I'm perfectly happy with things as they are. This isn't my problem. So what the fuck are you playing at?"

"Patience," the Trickster admonished. "We're almost done." He lifted his hand and Dean sighed.

_Snap._


	31. Revelations

31.

A cemetery. Dean knew where they were the instant he felt grass under his boots. _Home_. Lawrence, Kansas. Not twenty feet away from where he and the Trickster stood was Sam. Except it wasn't Sam. The creature inside Sam's skin made Dean want to cast himself onto his face to worship and run away screaming. The next moment, the other Dean arrived. Except, again, it wasn't Dean.

"This is it," the Trickster said. "The moment of truth."

Dean watched in horrified fascination as Michael and Lucifer greeted each other almost cordially. But it went downhill fast and the air filled with wings and Grace. The Trickster snapped his fingers and then they stood in the factory where they'd started this whole psychotic journey.

"That's how it ends," the Trickster explained. "Brother against brother. Michael and Lucifer; you and Sam."

"But not in this reality," Dean said hoarsely. "You said—"

"I never said it wouldn't happen," the Trickster snapped. "I just said you weren't the one heaven was relying on to stop it anymore. It's still on, Dean. The Apocalypse. You've only delayed it a bit."

"What?" Dean asked stupidly, blinking at the shorter man.

The Trickster sighed sharply. "Lilith is still trying to break the seals, dumbass. She still wants Lucifer free. And heaven won't do a damn thing to stop her."

"But they can't," Dean protested. "We're—Sam and me-"

"They don't need _you_," the Trickster snapped. "They need your meat sacks. And now that you're not human, they don't even need permission anymore. Exorcise you, and jackpot!"

"Holy fuck," Dean blurted when he realized the magnitude of the pagan god's words.

The Trickster snorted. "Yeah. So the question now is, what are you going to do about it?"


	32. Drink

32.

Shannon loaded the last box into her father's battered old pick-up. She slammed the tailgate up and turned around to run into Dean's chest. She shrieked in surprise and tried to recoil, but he caught her wrists, holding her in place.

"Dean?" she asked in disbelief. "But they said the angels took you."

"Yeah, not exactly," Dean replied. There was something off in his voice, something in the way he was staring down at her, that made a strange swirl of emotion coil through Shannon's belly: half apprehension, half excitement. She tried to tug her arms free but his fingers were like steel bands around her wrists.

"Um," she said hesitantly. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I've had a really, really long day," Dean said, staring unblinkingly at her. His pupils dilated, swallowing the green irises, until only a thin ring of white was visible around the edges.

Shannon's apprehension ratcheted up a notch. "Um," she said again, swallowing. "I could make you a drink?" she offered, her voice shaking.

He took a sudden, sharp breath and abruptly released her. The darkness receded from his eyes until he returned to normal. "Yeah," he said, smiling faintly. "I'd like that."


	33. Reunion

33.

Sam's reaction to Dean's appearance was a left hook to the jaw. "You fucking _asshole_!" he yelled at his brother, hauling back for another blow. "I've been looking fucking everywhere for you!"

Dean ducked under his brother's arm, grabbed Sam's arm, and twisted it behind his back. He shoved Sam face-first into the nearest wall and pinned him there with a forearm across the back of his neck. "Calm down," Dean ordered coldly.

Sam made a token struggle but quickly gave up. "Jerk," he mumbled petulantly. "Where've you been?"

"Getting dragged around by the Trickster," Dean replied testily. He released Sam and stepped back to allow Sam to turn and face him.

"The Trickster?" Sam demanded. "I'm gonna rip his intestines out and strangle him."

"Probably won't kill him," Dean said. "Guy's a freaking cockroach."

Sam scowled. "What did he want?"

Dean sighed. "You're not gonna like it."


	34. Seal

34.

The angels were staring at them in shock. Dean glowered back, drenched in demon's blood, the Knife still in one hand. Sam crouched behind him, blood dribbling down his chin. He'd sensed they were in trouble and managed to pull himself away from the lure of demon's blood enough to back his brother up.

Castiel tilted his head to the side, blue eyes never wavering from Dean's face. His stare made Dean feel uncomfortably exposed. "What?" Dean finally demanded belligerently.

"You kept this seal from being broken," Castiel said slowly. "Why?"

"Not every demon is on board with Lucifer walking the earth," Dean snapped back.

"You are a denizen of hell," Castiel insisted.

"Maybe," Dean said with a shrug. "But I don't take orders from anyone, not even him."

"Castiel, let's just kill it," the British angel said impatiently.

Castiel held up a hand. "Peace, Balthazar." He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "I do not understand your motivations."

Dean spread his arms. "I just want to be left alone," he said wearily.

"Then why are you getting involved in this?" Castiel continued doggedly.

Dean reached behind him and dragged Sam to his feet. "Why don't you ask your bosses that?" he suggested, and started to walk away, hauling Sam after him. He kept his senses alert, wary for an attack, but none ever came.


	35. Doubt

35.

Dean was in a library. On a Friday night. It was the last place he wanted to be and his frustration was rapidly mounting. He contemplated massacring everyone else in the library just to blow off some steam, but reluctantly decided against it. He didn't need the attention right now.

Just because you were a demon apparently didn't mean you were privy to all of hell's knowledge. Hence the research trip on a Friday night. Sam was somewhere with his nose buried in some ancient tome. He was actually enjoying this.

Dean slammed his book shut and got to his feet, reaching for his jacket. He was sick of poking through old books trying to identify the other seals and his eyes hurt from trying to decipher the small print. He was going to go get something to drink and leave the book work to Sam.

He was three steps down the street from the library doors when the rain-and-lightening scent hit him. He whirled around. Castiel stood about ten paces away, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He was alone for the first time Dean had ever seen.

"The hell you want?" Dean demanded warily. The angel blade was in a duffel bag in the trunk of the Impala. Dean was sincerely regretting that fact.

"You do not wish the Apocalypse to happen," Castiel said without preamble.

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? I like the world as it is."

"You are a demon," Castiel continued. "Why are you fighting against hell?"

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Seriously? This again? I already told you, I'm not on hell's side."

"Then whose side are you on?" Castiel asked.

"Mine," Dean snapped. "Mine and Sam's." He paused to study Castiel for a moment. "Do _you_ want the Apocalypse to happen?" he shot back at the angel. Castiel seemed taken aback by the question and unsure of how to answer. "Because if you don't," Dean went on. "You're on the wrong side. Heaven wants this as much as hell does."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "You lie," he growled, his voice a deep rumble.

Dean held up a hand. "Swear to God," he declared, and then flipped the sky off. He looked back at the angel. "How much do they actually tell you?" he challenged. "How about the part where Michael's supposed to ride around in my skin? Yeah, and Lucifer's supposed to wear Sam." He spread his arms. "They're setting up the prize fight of the millennium with the winner take all."

"Heaven will not allow Lucifer to be freed," Castiel insisted.

"Really?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow. "In the last two months, how many seals has heaven saved? 'Cause I can tell you, me and Sam, we've saved twelve. Two demons. What's the score of the whole heavenly host?"

Castiel's jaw tightened. Then he vanished, leaving behind only the whisper of feathered wings. Dean shook his head, turned on his heel, and headed for the nearest bar.


	36. Intruder

36.

When Shannon walked into the living room of her tiny apartment to find a blonde man in a dark blazer, her reaction was more annoyance than alarm. "God, do you people even _know_ what a door is?" she demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at the intruder. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Where is Dean Winchester?" the man demanded in a British accent.

"I don't know," Shannon replied. "I haven't seen him in two months."

He stepped forward threateningly. "He owns the contract on your soul. _Where is he_?"

Shannon stepped back, panic abruptly flaring in her chest. "I don't know," she repeated. "Please go away."

The man pressed forward again, backing Shannon toward the kitchen. "If you don't know, then we can easily find out," he said with a sneer.

Shannon turned and bolted for the kitchen, scrabbling for the phone in its cradle. The man was there at her side in an instant, snatching the phone from her hand and slamming it down hard enough to shatter it. He grabbed her around the throat, lifting her off the floor.

"Hey, dickwad," called a voice from behind the stranger. He dropped Shannon and whirled around.

From where she lay choking on the kitchen floor, Shannon could see Dean standing by the far wall, a strange, silver sword in one hand. His face was twisted in a snarl. "Get the hell away from her," he rumbled dangerously.

The blonde man charged at Dean without a word, a blade appearing in his hand. Dean tried to dodge out of the way but the man drove his blade at Dean's chest. Dean caught the blade on his own at the last minute, but the force of the blow drove him backwards into the wall, leaving a body-sized dent behind.

The man raised his sword for another strike and Dean, stunned from the first blow, was a second too late in reacting. But before the man's sword could bite into Dean's flesh, Shannon hit him over the head with a baseball bat. The man stumbled sideways, throwing up his arm to ward her off, but she kept coming, raining blows down on him with all her strength.

"Leave. Him. Alone. You. Bastard!" Shannon gritted out with each swing. The man finally caught the bat and yanked it out of Shannon's hands, advancing on her with thunder on his face. Dean grabbed his arm before he could hit the girl and drove his silver blade into the man's ribs with all his strength. With an agonized cry, the man disappeared, leaving Dean behind with a dripping sword.

Shannon stared at the spot where the man had stood. "Who was that?" she demanded, eyes wide.

"An angel," Dean replied, rubbing the back of his head with a wince.

Shannon went pale. "You mean I just beat an _angel_ with a baseball bat?" she asked, her voice going squeaky at the end.

Dean grinned at her. "Yeah. And it was kinda hot."


	37. Packing

37.

Shannon sat on the floor of her apartment's small kitchen, arms wrapped around her shins. "I attacked an angel with a baseball bat," she said again, still in shock.

"Get up," Dean ordered. "Pack a bag."

She blinked and looked up at him. "What? Why?"

"We're leaving," Dean replied shortly.

"But—I—No, I can't," Shannon protested.

"They're going to try to use you to get to me," Dean snapped. "So I can kill you or take you with me. I really have no problem with either."

Shannon stared at him for a moment, and then got to her feet, leaving the kitchen. She was back a few minutes later with an overnight bag on one shoulder. Dean narrowed his eyes at her. "Okay, listen up," he growled. "I'm only keeping you as long as you don't slow me down. You do exactly as I say, when I say. If I think even for a moment you're going to be an inconvenience, I'll snap your neck. Got it?"

She nodded wordlessly. Dean growled under his breath and walked over to grab her arm. "All right. Let's go."


	38. Fate

38.

Shannon sat on a chair in the motel room, her bag clutched on her lap. Dean and Sam were on the other side of the room. They'd lowered their voices, but she could still hear them.

"Are you crazy?" Sam hissed. "We can't take her with us."

"The angels can use her to get to me," Dean replied.

"Then just kill her and be done with it," Sam retorted.

"I don't want to kill her just yet," Dean said firmly.

"We don't have time for pets, Dean," Sam growled. "In case you've forgotten, we're trying to stop the fucking _Apocalypse_."

Shannon twitched at that, but said nothing. Her fate was being decided ten feet from where she sat, but she couldn't find it within her to beg for her life.

"Look, if she slows us down, I'll kill her myself," Dean said. "Until then, she stays with us. End of discussion." Sam crossed his arms and glared down at his brother, but Dean didn't budge.

"Fine," Sam spat. "But she's your responsibility." He stomped past Shannon, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the door after him on his way out the motel room. Dean sauntered over to Shannon.

"You can take that bed," he told her, pointing. "I'm going to get us something to eat. Don't leave the room and don't let anyone in."

"Okay," she whispered, not looking up at him.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, it's not like I'm going to tie you up and torture you," he said impatiently. "You don't have to be like that."

Shannon raised her eyes to his face. "How do you want me to be?" she asked quietly.

Dean's expression darkened and Shannon lowered her face again, hiding behind her bangs. "You know what?" Dean snapped. "Forget I said anything." With that he followed Sam out, leaving Shannon behind wondering what the hell she'd got herself into.


End file.
